I Could Get Used to You
by Sunny Monster
Summary: PreRent, from Mark and Roger's first meeting to the start of the show. Is currently being revised, will probably not be updated.
1. Test: 1, 2, 3

"Hey, guys, come on. They need us on stage."

"What are you talking about? The bar's not even open yet."

"Not to play, Rog. Use your brain. That new kid Rick's got on sound wants to– I don't know– adjust the mikes or something. Come on."

The Well Hungarians played at The Barracuda every Thursday night. They had the talent to become fairly popular, but for some reason they weren't. Some of the members felt that this was because they never learned any new songs.

The Well Hungarians had never put much time into adjusting levels on the sound equipment before, so it was not uncommon for the amps to start screeching in the middle of a song. This was also considered to be a likely reason for their lack of a large fan base.

Roger Davis, lead singer and guitarist for the Well Hungarians, didn't have a hard time picking out who the new sound guy was. He had the stereotypical nerdy tech crew look going on, small and pale with unremarkable brown hair and thick black-rimmed glasses. Roger was surprised at how young he looked. At least, he would have been surprised by this had he been more than vaguely interested.

"Um, hi guys. From what Rick told me, it sounds like you've been having some problems with feedback. I've moved some of the receptors, and that should help, but I've also had to bring down some levels, so keep all of that in mind when you set up, okay?"

The Well Hungarians stared at this boy blankly as he entered the full bloom of nerd-dome before their eyes.

"Right... well, I'd like to do a mike check. Drums and bass should be okay, I'm really more concerned with whoever's singing lead."

Roger took a step forward.

"That would be me."

"Okay, would you sing a few lines into whichever microphone you plan on using?"

"Sure thing."

Roger sang the chorus to one of their faster songs. The sound kid listened, occasionally changing some settings on the panel in front of him.

"Great job, thanks. I'm done with you guys if you want to go back now. Have a good show."

They had a good show.

Actually, they had several good shows in the next few months. The sound quality was considerably improved, random bouts of screeching from the amps were nearly eliminated, and the audiences began to stay later and even gradually grow larger. Encouraged by this rise in popularity, the band even started working on a few new songs. The general opinion of the Well Hungarians was that it was absolutely ridiculous what a difference the lack of screeching amps made.

Granted, their were occasional flaws in the sound control, and the no-longer-quite-as-new sound guy would always deal with these at the beginning of the weekly pre-show sound check with the band before proceeding to his usual ritual of checking Roger's mike.

Nothing ever varied.

For a while.

"Alright, can I hear you sing a couple of lines into the mike now?" the young man asked, as usual.

Also as usual, Roger stepped up to the microphone.

In a complete break from all that was usual, Roger did not sing, but instead spoke into the mike, "So, what's your name, kid?"

The sound guy jumped slightly and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"I, um, excuse me?"

"Every Thursday you ask me to sing into the mike, and every Thursday I do. And then, every Thursday, you say, 'Great job. Have a good show, guys.' But by Friday I'm still never any closer to finding out your name. And therefore I repeat: what's your name, kid?"

The younger man blushed.

"Mark. Mark Cohen."

"Glad to know you, Mark. Roger Davis."

This break from procedure had obviously caught Mark quite off guard. He smiled, in a very shy and rather embarrassed manner.

"Um, hi, Roger."

He said nothing for a moment and then suddenly announced, "Okay, have a great show, guys."

"See ya later, Mark," Roger called out with a grin, as the Well Hungarians went backstage.

A few minutes later, Rick, the owner of the bar, sauntered over to the sound booth with his characteristic smile.

"So Mark, how those mikes today?"

"What? Oh. Fine. Great, actually."


	2. Live in my house

_A/N: I'm not entirely sure that bars actually have sound guys, now that I think about it. So let's just say that the Barracuda is a very nice bar. Everyone seems to think this is M/R. It's not.  Enjoy. Next up: the loft!  
_  
When Mark showed up for work at the Barracuda on Monday, he was surprised to see Roger there, sitting at a table sipping a beer, with a look on his face that would normally have scared Mark away from anyone other than this man who was usually so friendly. So, instead of cowering in fear, he sat down next to him.

"Hey Roger. Anything wrong?"

"Oh, everything's great, other than the fact that I no longer have a place to live," was the rather bitter response.

"Geez... I'm sorry," Mark said with a grimace. "What happened?"

Roger sighed.

"I was living with the drummer and his parents, you know, and everything was fine until Friday, when he decided that he just had to come out to them as gay. So, they assume that I'm his boyfriend and kick me out, because they're just morons like that. Next thing I know, they've gone and moved, and no one's been able to find them. Too bad, really. He was a hell of a drummer. Well, anyway, I spent the weekend with Dave, the bassist, but he already has more people than are legal living in that apartment."

Mark listened sympathetically, trying to conjure up a picture of the drummer in his mind. He couldn't remember him, although the band had played just this past Thursday. He'd never really paid much attention to any of the other band members, just to Roger.

When Roger finished his story, Mark glanced at the beer is his hand.

"So what you brings you here? Planning to drown your troubles in cheap beer?" Mark asked, trying to lighten the mood somewhat.

Roger smiled, but without much feeling.

"Actually, I was hoping Rick might be able to help me find a place to stay. For that matter, why are you here? Does this place actually have live entertainment on a Monday?"

"Not usually. Some stand-up comedian was desperate for a slot. I doubt he'll last the month."

Roger gave Mark a curious look, as if he had just realized something.

"I guess you do sound for all the other groups that play here, too, huh? I'd always just thought of you as _our_ sound guy... So, how are the other bands?"

"They're alright." Mark shrugged. "Loud music and smoky bars aren't really my thing, but it pays. I like the Well Hungarians, though," he added. "You're really the best, I think. I'm surprised Rick hasn't moved you to Friday or Saturday yet."

The musician laughed appreciatively. 

"Well, I'm glad we're enjoyable, since you have to hear us every week. Speaking of Rick, though, I'd better find him if I plan on talking to him tonight."

He got up, leaving Mark gazing after him in a thoughtful manner.

Mark hesitated for a moment, and then called out, "Wait! Roger."

Roger turned, expectantly.

"Well, I was just thinking," Mark began, apparently nervous, "if you want, you... you could always stay with me."

Roger raised his eyebrows, obviously surprised.

"Of course, I'd understand if you didn't want to. But if you did, I'm sure my roommates wouldn't mind. But you probably don't want- it was a stupid idea. Sorry I bothered you, I- "

He was cut off by Roger's laughter.

"Mark, calm down, you dork. That sounds great. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all," insisted Mark, with a relieved grin. "You'll like my roommates, Benny and Collins; they're great. And the rent's not too bad- shouldn't be, for an apartment as crummy as ours. But it's livable."

Roger grinned.

"Hey, as long as there's a roof, I'm good. Thanks, man. Really." 

Mark reddened slightly, still smiling.

"It's really no trouble. Let's see, I still have to stay here for a couple more hours, but if you want, I can go ahead and give you my key so you can move in."

"That's alright. I'll just stick around here until you're done."

"Are you sure? I don't mind giving you the key."

"No, it's okay. After all, you may need some moral support if that comedian turns out to be as bad as you're expecting. Besides," he added, with a devilish grin, "Rick let's me have free beer."

"Then it's settled," Mark agreed, laughing, as he made his way to the soundboard.


	3. From here on in

_A/N: I've decided that this will _not_ be slash.  If you want it to be M/R, I guess you can just pretend it is, but that's not my intent in writing it.  Many, many thanks to Zi-buggy: the world's best proof-reader, who gave me "let out a barking laugh".  I love you! You are my spine, and I hereby alternately title this chapter "Checkmate" in honor of you.  All this fluffiness between Mark and Roger serves a purpose, by the way.  It's not fluff for the sake of fluff.  And… the end of this chapter is scarily similar to the end of "Cheaper than Cheap Colored Lights," or whatever I named the Christmas one. Because, um, I'm unoriginal._ _Enjoy._

Once the performance, which was just as bad as Mark had expected, was over, Roger helped Mark put away the equipment for the night, and together they began to walk towards the apartment.  For a while, neither could think of anything to say. Finally, Roger felt a need to break the silence.

"I left my stuff at Dave's," he explained, rather unnecessarily.

"Alright. We can go get it in the morning.  I mean, we can go now if you really want to, but it _is_ sort of late."

"No, tomorrow's fine," Roger added, chuckling.  "So… tell me about your roommates.  Are you sure they won't mind my invasion?"

"Oh, don't worry, you'll get along great.  Benny was my roommate at Brown.  We became best friends pretty quick.  Our senior year we signed up for a philosophy class together.  One day, our professor invited a friend of his who was working on his graduate in philosophy to come give a lecture.  Enter Collins.  The lecture was awesome.  All this technology versus humanity stuff.  Benny was completely enthralled.  So anyway, we stayed after and talked to the guy a while, and ended up taking him out to lunch.  He was—still is—this really amazing person.  He started telling us all these wild stories, like how he ran naked through Parthenon."

Roger let out a barking laugh.

"You're kidding."

"It's true!" Mark insisted.  "So he went back to NYU, but we kept in touch.  He and Benny really hit it off— you should see the postcards they sent each other.  Every once in a while we'd all get together for dinner or something.  When we graduated, Benny and I both wanted to move to New York.  Collins insisted that we share his apartment, and we didn't need much persuasion.  Trust me, those two are among the smartest, kindest, and coolest people you'll ever meet."

"Hey, if they're half as great as you say they are, I'm sure they're awesome."

"They are. It's this street," Mark added, turning right, and starting some form of conversation.

Roger looked around him while Mark talked.  It wasn't a great neighborhood.  To walk through it at 11:30, as they were then, was bad enough, but Roger knew that the other performances at the Barracuda got out much later, usually.  He glanced at Mark, who was chatting away with an air of shyness, and something like innocence.  Roger wasn't too worried about walking that way himself, but he knew that for someone as small and skinny and obviously nerdy as Mark to be walking alone in that part of town every night at 2 AM was ridiculously dangerous.  It was like wearing a "Mug me!" sign.

"Do you walk home every night?" Roger asked suddenly.

"Why wouldn't I?" responded Mark.  He was a bit surprised, partly by the nature of the question, and partly because Roger had cut him off in mid-sentence to ask it.  "I mean, it's only a few blocks."

"By yourself?"

Mark laughed.

"Now I know you'll fit in.  You already sound just like Benny and Collins.  I wish I had five bucks for every time one of them lectured me on the dangers of little Jewish boys wandering in rough neighborhoods."

"How does being Jewish affect safety?"

"As far as I know, it doesn't.  I think they just like the way 'little Jewish boy' sounds.  Maybe it adds to the victim image or something."

"Have you ever been mugged out here?"

"No. Well, maybe once."

Roger's eyes widened suspiciously.  He was about to inquire how some can "maybe" be mugged, when Mark quickly began to explain.

"Look, it wasn't a big deal.  This guy came up to me – he was obviously a junkie, and he looked pretty desperate – and demanded that I give him money.  I did.  All I had on me was five dollars.  He punched me in the face.  I had a black eye for a week.  I wouldn't have minded so much if he hadn't broken my glasses.  That was kind of annoying.  Anyways, he hit me a few times, grabbed my wallet, realized that it really _was empty, and took off.  It wasn't really serious."_

Roger thought that he and Mark must have very different definitions of "serious".

"I remember that! You told everyone at the Barracuda that you'd accidentally walked into a wall."

"Yeah, that's what I told Benny and Collins, too."

The memory did not seem to bother Mark nearly as much as it did Roger.

"Why didn't you just tell the truth?"

Mark shrugged.

"I didn't want them to freak out."

"Mark… you're living dangerously, buddy."

"It's not that bad.  Why? Are you afraid you'll get mugged?"

"No, but the only reason I'm not afraid is because I'm a big strong tough guy.  But you—"

"Are walking with a big strong tough guy.  Why should I worry?  Besides, I like the walk."

Roger couldn't help but laugh softly, but was unmoved from his original concern.  He didn't know why he cared, but it bothered him that this naïve young man beside him put himself in danger every night because he liked to walk.  Roger suddenly felt a brotherly urge to protect Mark.

"Well, here we are!"

Mark stopped suddenly in front of an old building that looked about as run-down as a dwelling can get without becoming condemned.  He glanced nervously between the building at the man standing beside him.

"Home, sweet home.  It's not much.  Pretty bad, actually, I guess.  Look, I'll understand if you decide to find some place else—"

"Mark!  Calm down!  God, you are the least confident person I've ever met.  How the hell do you get dates?"

"I don't," Mark replied with a sheepish tone and an apologetic grin.

Roger laughed.

"I'll have to fix that for you.  What floor are you – we – on?"

"The very top.  No elevator, sorry."

"No problem," Roger responded with a shrug as he followed Mark.

When they reached the top floor, Mark unlocked a door and stepped inside, Roger following along behind him.  Two men were sitting inside, engaged in what appeared to be a very serious game of chess.  They did not seem to notice the newcomers.

"Checkmate."

"You mean 'check'."

"No, checkmate."

"If it was checkmate, I wouldn't be able to get out of it."

"You can't get out of it."

The man in check made a move.

"I just did."

"You can't do that."

"I can.  It's in the rules."

"You made that up."

The man who had just escaped death by rook laughed.

"Benny, I don't need to make up rules to beat you in chess."

"Ha ha.  You haven't won this round yet, Collins."

Mark cleared his throat.  Benny and Collins looked up in surprise.

"Hey, Mark.  You're home earlier than usual.  Who's your friend?"

"He followed me home," Mark responded dryly. "Can we keep him?"

"That depends.  Is he house-broken?"

"Geez Mark, I thought that Collins was the one who brought guys home," Benny teased.

"Ha.  Oh Rog, that reminds me. I forgot to tell you: Collins is gay. I didn't think you'd mind.  Anyways, this is Roger Davis.  Roger, this is Tom Collins and Benjamin Coffin the third."

"Just call me Collins."

"And if I hear you addressing me with more than two syllables, you're going down.  I'm just Benny."

"So, Roger's band plays at the Barracuda, which is how I know him.  He kinda just got kicked out of his house, so I told him he could stay with us.  Is that okay?"

"No!" shouted Benny harshly, before laughing and giving both Mark and Roger a manly whack on the back that was apparently the equivalent of a hug.  "Of course it's okay!  It's nice to meet you, Roger."

"The more the merrier!" agreed Collins with a welcoming grin.

"Hey, we need to figure out what the bed situation's going to be," said Benny, suddenly practical.  "We'll have to add one to your room, Mark.  There's hardly room for a sleeping bag in with Collins and me."

"Yeah, I figured that.  You can take my bed tonight, Roger.  I'll sleep on the couch.  Tomorrow we'll look for a mattress or something."

"I'll take the couch," volunteered Roger.  "You're already letting me barge in on your apartment.  You don't have to sacrifice your bed, too."

"No, I insist," Mark responded stubbornly.  He flopped himself down on the couch, as if to settle the case.

Roger rolled his eyes and gave his friend a half-grin.

"Oh, alright, I guess there's no arguing with you."

Collins glanced at his watch.

"Sorry we can't have some sort of group-bonding experience tonight, guys, but if I'm going to teach a class at eight thirty tomorrow morning, I should probably go to bed.  Night, everyone.  Just leave the chess board out, Benny, we'll finish tomorrow.  Welcome to the loft, Roger."  He gave their roommate a big bear hug and walked into another room.

"I might as well turn in, too," said Benny.  "Great to meet you, Roger.  We'll have to all get lunch tomorrow, or something."  He followed Collins into the other room.

Roger turned to face Mark.  "Well, since everyone else is going to bed… Hey, where _is your room?"_

Mark laughed and pointed to a door.  "I guess that would be a useful piece of information, huh?  It's right there.  And the one in between the two bedrooms is the bathroom."

"Thanks."  Roger walked towards Mark's room, then stopped, and turned around.  "Seriously, Mark.  Thanks, for all of this.  Not many people would invite someone they hardly know into their house so readily.  I really appreciate it."

"I don't hardly know you, Rog.  I've seen you once a week for months now.  Besides, you're welcome here. It's no trouble."

"Thanks."  Roger was silent for a while.  He began to walk back towards Mark's room.

"Roger?"

He turned.

"Yeah?"

"Good night."

"Good night, Mark."


	4. Beyond the cheap colored lights

_A/N: Thanks to Michelle, who beta-ed, and thanks in advance to Zi, who will be beta-ing this belatedly. I'm sorry this is taking so long to really get a plot started. It's going to go to just before the beginning of the musical, probably. Next chapter will come once I get finished with the curses known as college and scholarship applications. They're evil._

Roger woke up to an empty loft and a Post-It note left on his shoe by Mark.

"Idiot," mumbled Roger, but he smiled as he picked up the note to read it.

            _Roger-_

_            Went out for milk and cereal. There's some stale bread by the sink if you're hungry. Be back soon._

_            -Mark_

Roger laughed and decided to risk the bread.  Stale, fresh, it's all the same toasted and buttered.

After placing the bread (for which he thought "stale" had been a bit of an understatement) in the toaster, Roger walked over to the phone and dialed Rick's place, knowing it was too early for him to be at the bar.

"Yo. Rick Miles here."

"Hey, man, it's Roger Davis."

"Hey Rog, what's up?"

"I was wondering if you needed another bartender?"

"What shift?"

"Whenever that Mark kid's working."

Roger could practically hear Rick's teasing grin through the phone lines.

"I didn't know you were into guys, Rog."

"Ha ha. Screw you, Rick.  He walks home by himself every night.  I don't want him to get mugged or anything."

"That's noble, Rog.  Seriously.  You're a good guy."

"So you've got an opening?"

"Sure. You can start tonight if you want."

"Great.  Thanks, man."

"No problem.  You're the one looking out for the well being of my sound man.  Hey, have you guys found a new drummer for the band yet?"

"I think Jered has a friend who's gonna fill in for a while.  Don't worry.  We'll have something together by Thursday."

"All right, I trust you.  Well, I'll see you tonight."

"See you, Rick."

He hung up and went to attend to his toast, which was burned pretty badly.  Fortunately, as he was scraping the blackened bits off, Mark walked through the door, carrying more edible breakfast items.

"Breakfast! Breakfast that doesn't bear a remarkable resemblance to something out of the Petrified Forest.  Thank God."

Roger grabbed the bags from Mark and poured himself a bowl of cereal.

"I thought you might be hungry by now," remarked Mark, obviously amused by Roger's reaction to the groceries.  "Do you want to go get your stuff after you eat?"

"Sure.  I can get it by myself, though.  I don't have that much."

"All right.  Then why don't you give me some money and I'll get you a mattress and a copy of the key while you get your things."

Roger reached for his wallet, but then paused, smirking slightly.

"Are you planning on carrying a mattress back here by yourself?"

Mark laughed.

"I hadn't thought about that.  Guess you'll be getting an air mattress, then."

"That's fine.  I should probably go ahead if I want to catch Dave before he leaves for work."

"All right.  Oh, that reminds me, Benny wanted us to meet him for lunch.  He didn't say where, so I guess we should just go to his office.  I know where it is, so I'll just meet you back here and we'll walk over there."

"Yeah, okay, I'll see you then."

Roger put his bowl in the sink—already filled with stacks of dirty dishes—and walked out the door, leaving Mark sitting at the table giving the mutated toast an odd stare.

When Roger got back to the loft, Mark was still out.  He put his bags down in Mark's room and, tenderly, removed his guitar from its case.  His "Lady".  He had missed her greatly in their one day of separation.  Caressing the Fender lovingly, he sat down in what passed for a living room and began to tune the instrument.

For a while, Roger didn't really play anything.  He merely held the guitar, feeling its curves beneath his hands.  God, he loved music.

Really, he reflected as he began plucking out a melody of his own, music had quite literally led him to his current state of being.  In a new home, with new potential friends.

And Mark.

Roger didn't entirely understand Mark, but he liked him.  He sensed some inexplicable connection between them.

Actually, Roger had no idea that he was thinking all of this.  As far as he realized, he was just staring at a particularly unusual stain on the wall and playing the guitar, very far from deep, reflective thought that was usually reserved for chambers of his mind that he didn't know existed, due to lack of exploration.  Consciously, he figured Mark was just a nice guy who had offered him a place to stay.

But his subconscious was busy as hell.

Roger was so absorbed in his music and deep, reflective thought that he didn't notice when Mark entered.  He didn't see Mark standing there, lips parted in surprise and eyes widened in something like awe.  Roger had no idea that anyone else was in the room until he got up to put his "Lady" back in her case.

"Why'd you stop?"

Roger turned quickly, surprised as much by Mark's presence as he was by his question.

"God, Mark, you scared the hell out of me."

"That was beautiful.  Did you write it?"

"Yeah."

"You're incredible.  Why don't you play stuff like that with the band?"

"It's acoustic.  We're a rock band."

"You should play that sort of stuff sometime.  Without the band."

"I guess.  That'd be kind of weird.  I'm used to the Hungarians."

"You could do it.  I've never heard you play that thing before when it wasn't plugged in and accompanied by lots of loud stuff."

Roger laughed as he walked into his and Mark's room to put the guitar away.

"I'm starting to think you've never heard a guitar before at all, the way you're freaking out about it.  I'm not that good.  And I'll be sure to tell the band that you think our music is 'lots of loud stuff'," he teased, walking back towards Mark.

"Leave me alone, that's not what I meant.  You're mean.  I should kick you out."

"Ha!  You would never do that.  You're too nice.  See?  Being mean like me has its advantages."

"I guess.  Here's your key.  You can inflate the mattress when we get back from lunch.  I'd help, but I have no lung power.  I don't think I even have lungs.  Maybe we can convince Benny to do it.  He's full of hot air."

Roger laughed again, giving Mark a good-natured whack in the arm.

"Hey, I thought I was the mean one."

Mark grinned.

"You're a bad influence on me.  Besides, if you can't make fun of your best friends every once in a while, who can you make fun of?  Come on, we need to go.  I told Benny we'd meet him at twelve, and we're already going to be late.  I think Collins is meeting us there, too."

"Yeah, okay, cool."

And with that, both men grabbed their jackets and headed out the door to develop that force stronger than duct tape: the bonds of friendship.


	5. The filmmaker cannot see

_AN: Many thanks to Michelle (__Daydreamer731) for beta-ing.  Chapter 6 is already partially written, so hopefully there won't be as much of a delay.___

"We just _had_ to go to the Thai place, just because it was named 'Bennie's'."

"Aw, quit whining, Mark.  It wasn't that bad.  You had a good time."

"Hey, all I'm saying is that the word 'mild' obviously has a very different meaning in the world of Thai cuisine than the one I'm used to."

Roger rolled his eyes and sat down on the least disgusting part of the couch he could find.  Mark poured himself a glass of water from the sink, exaggerating a sigh of relief.

"So, what are you doing today, Roger?"

"Oh, um, nothing.  Band practice later this afternoon."  Roger decided not to tell Mark about his new job as a bartender.  He wanted to surprise him, just for fun.  "What about you?"

Mark shrugged and walked into their room, returning with a pen and a legal pad.

"I'm probably going to work on my screenplay until Benny and Collins get back, I guess."

"Screenplay?  You write?"

"Sort of.  I've finished a few, but they're all pretty lousy.  What I really want to do is direct, but you've got to start somewhere, right?"

"That rocks.  Do you ever actually film them, or do you just write them and send them off somewhere?"

"I usually film them, if they're even remotely decent.  I've got this theatre friend who does all this off-off-Broadway stuff.  He helps me find actors.  It's pretty cool.  There's this one girl who does some stuff with his group—her name's Maureen Jones or Jackson or something—anyway, I really want her for the one I'm writing now.  She's got this…charisma."

"You should ask her out," remarked Roger with a devilish grin as he watched Mark's double take.

"What!  Are you kidding?  She'd never go out with me!  She's the kind of woman who probably gets asked out by complete strangers five times a day! She'd never want to go out with me."

Laughing, Roger gave him a friendly punch in the shoulder.

"Whoa, do I sense some confidence issues here or what?  It won't kill you just to ask.  Besides, if she's worth your time, she'll say 'yes'.  Girls like pale, scrawny guys."

Mark shot a mock glare at Roger and made a sad, pathetic sound.

"I don't know…"

Roger let out an exasperated sigh.

"Mark, what's your middle name?"

"Huh?  It's Jeremiah."

"Mark isn't short for anything, is it?"

"No, why?"

"I need it to sound intimidating."

"What?"

"Mark Jeremiah Cohen!  Quit your whimpering and promise me that you will ask that girl out next time you see her."

"Roger—"

"I'm serious!  Promise me, or I'll drive you crazy bugging you about it."

"All right, all right!"  Mark laughed, trying, and failing, to look angry.  "God, don't you have band practice or something?"

"Not for a couple more hours."

"It's going to be a long afternoon."

"Oh, come on.  How did you survive the boredom when Collins and Benny were working before I moved in?"

"Well, I was actually able to work on my screenplays, for one thing."

"Yeah, yeah, I can take a hint.  Hey, where are some of your others?  I want to read them."

"No, you don't.  They're really bad."

"You're exaggerating.  Let me read them, I'm really bored."

"All right, they're— Oh, never mind, I'll just go get them."

Mark soon returned with a stack of paper rivaling the Leaning Tower of Pisa in size and potential for collapse.

"Enjoy.  Scoff.  Try not to become physically ill."

Roger laughed, picked up one of the scripts, and began to read as Mark worked on his latest project.

An hour or so later, Roger was no longer laughing.

"Wow, Mark, this is pretty… bad."

"I know.  I just can't put my finger on the problem."

"Well, I'd say that the fact that the plot's cheesier than a bag of Cheetos is probably a major factor.  I mean, the characters are good.  You can tell that you're one of those quiet kids who sit around and watch everyone else.  But all the action is fake.  Nothing real happens."

"'Cheesier than a bag of Cheetos'?  Thank you, Roger _Ebert_," chuckled Mark.  "I thought songwriters were supposed to be eloquent."

Roger laughed.

"Fine.  Have it your way.  Ignore my thoughtful insight and waste the talent you obviously possess deep down in your soul.  See if I care."

"No, I think you're right.  Stupid plots.  Who needs 'em?"

"Maybe you don't need one.  Write what you know."

"Well, I guess that rules out 'boy meets girl'."

"Hey, I haven't given up on you and Maureen yet!"

"I guess.  Write what I know?  I don't think photography and sound equipment would make for terribly gripping central themes."

"Ooh, photography.  Yet another clue to the mystery of Mark Cohen is brought out."

"Well, it kind of goes along with filmmaking."

"Oh, yeah, I guess so.  Hey, you could take the pictures of the band sometime! We could make posters! That'd be really cool."

"Yeah, it would.  I'll bring a camera to your next show.  But I'd better wrestle with this screenplay right now, if I ever want a career in film."

"All right, I'll leave you alone now.  You'll think of something."

Roger retrieved his guitar, sat down on the table, and began to tune.  After a while, music began to float along between the grimy, water stained walls.  Listening, Mark leaned back, his pen between his teeth.  He smiled at the ceiling, as much as anyone can smile with a writing utensil in their mouth.


	6. The songwriter cannot hear

_A/N:  Short, but I didn't want to drag it out.  Please, _please_, review.  If I do not get reviews, I will assume that no one is reading this story and that there is no need for it to be continued._

When Roger walked into the Barracuda later that night, ready for his bartending debut, it did not take him long to cross paths with Mark.

"Hey, Roger.  What are you doing here?  I thought you went to band practice."

"I did.  And now it's finished and I'm here."

"So I see."  Mark grinned.  "Come to observe your rival bands?"

"Actually, I happen to work here."

"Oh, really.   Since when?"

"Um… about ten o' clock this morning."

"I see.  What shift?"

"Same as yours."

Mark glanced at him suspiciously.

"Did Collins and Benny put you up to this?"

"No, of course not.  I just wanted to be able to help out with the rent, that's all.  I mean, the band doesn't bring in all that much."

"And of course, this doesn't have anything to do with the lecture you gave me last night on the dangers of walking home by myself."

"None at all."

"Sure."

"Are you mad at me?"

Mark sighed in defeat and allowed a smile to creep across his face.

"No.  It's pretty hard to stay mad at you."

"I know.  It's a skill that saved me many times throughout my childhood."

"I'm sure.  All right, go run along and do whatever it is Rick's paying you to do here."

"You don't have to do this," Mark muttered, pulling his jacket on as he and Roger left the bar a few hours later.

"I know that.  I want to."

"I'm not a baby.  I don't know why everyone worries about me.  It's just a walk home."

"Look, Mark, I know you're not.  But let me do this.  You brought me into your home when I had no place to go, you've been incredibly kind to me—don't you think I'm allowed to not want you to get mugged again?"

"It wasn't all that serious," Mark protested, but without much conviction.

Roger gave him a look.

"You know, Roger, I have a feeling my life is going to be a lot less quiet from now on."

"You've got that right."

Mark shrugged his shoulders and grinned.

"Oh well.  At least I'm in good company."

"Correct again," laughed Roger, throwing a friendly arm around Mark's shoulders.  "And tomorrow, we're going to have some fun.  Life's too short. Tomorrow—"

"Today.  It's past midnight."

"Shut up, Mark.  Tomorrow, you and Benny and Collins and me are going out some place.  I know this one spot—the Cat Scratch Club—have you been there?"

"I don't think so."

Roger grinned and clapped Mark on the back.

"That's it, then.  Tomorrow, the four of us are going.  I know for a fact that tomorrow's act at the Barracuda canceled, so we don't have to work."

"Wednesday.  That's an awfully random day to go watch strippers."

"Any day is a good day to go watch strippers."  They both laughed as they turned the next corner.

"So," Roger began, after their laugher had subsided, "what'd you think of the new drummer tonight?"

"Um… I don't know.  He sounded alright to me."  Mark was surprised that Roger would ask him this, as Mark wasn't the most musically intuitive person around.

"I thought he was too loud."

"Aren't all drummers loud?"

"I guess.  He's kind of a jerk.  I'm hoping to find someone better soon.  He walked into rehearsal and wanted to do everything his way."

"Oh."  Mark wondered where Roger was going with this.

"I just want our band to be the best.  We're finally getting into something real, and I don't want anything to jeopardize it."

Mark raised an eyebrow at his friend.

"Rog, I think you're overreacting.  It's just a temporary drummer.  You can find a new one."

"I know… But until then, we're crippled.  I don't want us to get stuck in a rut.  I want us to be great."

"Well, you're quickly becoming one of the most popular local bands in the city," began Mark, not understanding Roger's frustration.

"But I want more than drunk groupies!  I want to write songs that mean something.  I want to do something great.  I just… I want to be an artist."

"You are an artist."

"I'm the lead singer of a garage rock band.  I'm the pretty boy front man of a group that sings about picking up girls and getting dumped by girls.  There's more to life than that.  Why can't I capture that?"

Mark shrugged.

"Personally, I'd be pretty happy if I had the experience to write songs about picking up girls."

"You _will_ ask a girl out within the next two weeks, Mark," Roger insisted, his expression changed to a devilish grin.  "I'll beat you up if you don't."

"You're such a great friend."

"I try."

"I know what you mean, though.  About wanting to capture real life.  I don't want to be another Hollywood sell-out.  I want to make films that mean something.  But… what _is real life?"_

"I don't know.  We're getting a lot deeper than I'm used to, especially this late at night.  I guess… a lot of real life's pretty boring.  And a lot of it's sad, and a lot of it's happy.  But it all balances out, and you can get through it if you've got your friends with you.  But how do you play that on the guitar?  How do you sing it?"

"How do you film it?  We'll find a way, eventually."

"I guess.  In the meantime, at least we're not alone, right?"

"Right."


	7. It's nice to dream

_A/N: There is actually plot development in this chapter.  Crazy, I know.  Sorry I took so long.  Would say that it will be quicker next time, but that tends to curse me, so I won't.  Many thanks to Zi, who helped me a ton with this.  Thank you to all my reviewers.  Please continue to review.  It really helps me._

Roger had been living in the loft for about two weeks.  However, he was away at band practice as Mark told Collins all about his very first lunch date with Maureen for what Collins guessed was the eleventh time.

"She's so incredible, Collins.  Beautiful, talented, exciting.  I can't believe she agreed to have lunch with me.  I can't believe she agreed to have lunch with me _again_ this Monday!  This is so amazing.  This kind of stuff never happens to me.  If things go well on Monday, I'm going to ask her on a real date.  No more letting life pass me by.  Do you think I should be paying for her food?"

"No," replied Collins, not looking up from a crossword puzzle.  "You're still on a pretty casual level."

"I guess you're right.  What if she isn't really interested me?  Do you think maybe she was just trying to be nice?"

Collins rolled his eyes and filled in part of the crossword.

"Mark, we've been through this.  It sounds to me like she has at least some interest in you, but you'll find out for sure when you ask her on a real date.  But take your time with that, and quit being so neurotic.  Hey, what's a four-letter dessert item since 1912?"

"I don't know, cake?  Actually, I guess cake's older than that."

Just then, the door opened and was slammed shut behind Roger, who appeared to be in a bit of a state.

"Hey, Roger.  You're back early," observed Mark, not looking up.

"Practice was cut short by my fist connecting with Jake's face," Roger explained dryly.  It was common knowledge that he and Jake, the new drummer, did not exactly get along.  However, physical violence was not expected for at least another three weeks.  Mark looked up in surprise and saw that Roger had a rather nasty split lip.

"Roger, what happened?" asked Collins, concerned.  Roger laughed.

"Don't worry about me.  You should see him.  Jake was playing too loud, and I told him he was overpowering the rest of us.  He said it was probably better that way.  So we start yelling at each other, and pretty soon it's an all-out fist fight.  I ended up kicking him out of the band.  Jered's mad.  He knows I'm right, but he and Jake have been friends for a pretty long time.  Dave suggested that we take a break for a week or so, and we all agreed that was probably the best thing to do.  Maybe we can find a better drummer by then."

"Wow.  That was quite an eventful practice," remarked Collins.

"Seriously," agreed Mark.  "I guess you'll have to cancel for Thursday.  Have you called Rick?"

"I called him," replied Roger.  A smile appeared to be tugging on his lips, which looked rather painful, actually, in their injured state.

Mark nodded in approval and was reaching to get the comics from Collins when Roger continued suddenly, "And I got him to give me the Thursday slot for a solo performance."  At this point, Roger was unable to suppress an ear-to-ear grin, in spite of the cut on his lip, especially when he saw the looks on Mark's and Collin's faces.

"Congratulations, Roger," said Collins with a smile, the first to process this announcement.  He stood up to give Roger a hug, but was beat to the punch by Mark in an uncommon display of excitement.

"Roger, that's amazing!" Mark exclaimed as he let go of his friend.

"I know, I can't believe it either," agreed Roger, exuberant.  "I mean, this could really be the start for me.  A chance to really be recognized for my own stuff.  I should have talked to Rick about doing this sooner."

"Well, you're doing it now.  And we've got to make sure people come.  Why don't we make some flyers?  I got the pictures from last Thursday developed a few days ago.  There's some of just you that we could use.  They're lying around somewhere in our room."

"Awesome," replied Roger, beaming, and occasionally wincing.  "Why don't you got get them and we'll get started."

"Sure thing."  Mark rushed into their room.  Roger and Collins could hear occasional clanging and cursing from the other side of the wall as Mark searched for the photos.  Collins moved the newspaper out of the way and patted the space on the couch next to him, indicating for Roger to sit down.  Roger did so, feeling rather awkward.  He had the feeling that Collins was about to be serious, and he wasn't sure if this was compatible with his new good mood.

"I've been wanting to talk to you for a while now, without Mark.  But that's been pretty hard to do.  You seem to have become fast friends," observed Collins in a rather amused tone.  Roger fidgeted.  "Anyway, I wanted to thank you.  For looking out for Mark, taking that job as a bartender.  There's something about him that brings out the protective big brother instinct in us all, but you've got to remember that he's not really some naïve puppy."  Roger squirmed again, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he felt.  "He's stronger than he looks.  Inwardly, at least."

Roger was starting to get defensive.  "What are you saying?  That Mark's a big boy and I should leave him alone?"

Not easily ruffled, Collins' smile only broadened.  "Not at all.  I'm just saying, don't try to be a hero.  Don't worry about Mark because he looks like someone who can't take care of himself, because he can.  Just care about him, because he's your friend.  Which is what I think you're doing," he added, mostly in response to the very dirty look Roger had begun to give him.  Collins laughed.  "Look, I just wanted to say 'thank you'.  Leave it to a philosophy professor to turn it into a lecture on the hero complex."

Roger was relieved for the laughter that came, giving him an outlet for the nervous energy that had been building up.  "It's cool," he replied with a lop-sided grin.  Roger was not quite as comfortable with words as Collins, at least not when he didn't have a guitar in his lap.

Fortunately for Roger, no continuance of this conversation was required as Mark returned at that moment with several pictures in his hands.  "They were under a book, behind my alarm clock," he explained as he grabbed some paper and Sharpies out of a desk and set them on the table.  Roger joined him and Collins returned to his crossword puzzle.

"So are you going to be playing the stuff you've written?" asked Mark.

"Mostly," confirmed Roger.  "I'll probably do a couple of covers.  But I don't think I'll be doing any hard rock."  He grabbed some glue and stuck a picture of himself on the paper.

"What about your lip?  Is that cut going to be a problem?"

"I don't think so.  It's not so bad, and it should be better by then.  It won't really affect my singing very much."

"That's good.  You know, I'm thinking," Mark began hesitantly, "I'm thinking that I might ask Maureen—" Roger rolled his eyes and smiled.  If Collins had heard the Maureen story eleven times, Roger must have heard it twenty-seven. "—if she wants to come with me to watch you.  As our first real date.  What do you think?"

"You should ask her," Roger said encouragingly.  Mark beamed, writing some details on the flyer.

The phone rang.  All three men looked up, eyes on the answering machine.

"Hey, it's the BoHo boys.  You can leave a message, but if you have some money, that'd be even better." _Beep_.

"Dudes, it's Benny, pick up."  Collins grabbed the phone and Mark and Roger returned to the manufacture of publicity aids.

"Hey Benny, how are you?  We're good.  We'll all have headaches from Sharpie fumes soon, but otherwise—Yeah, Mark and Roger are making flyers.  You should see them.  They're like a couple of kindergarteners at coloring time.  Oh, that's right, you haven't heard.  Roger's band had a bit of a falling out, so Roger will be giving a solo performance this Thursday.  Yeah, isn't it?  Are you going to be able to come?  Are you sure she won't mind?  You could bring her, if you want.  True, I don't really see that as being Alison's thing either.  Great.  Yeah?  That's fine.  No really, we'll just order Chinese or something tonight.  Sure.  Don't worry about it; it's not your fault.  That'd be fine.  Okay, I'll see you later—"

"Wait!" called out Mark and Roger, almost simultaneously.

"Wait!" repeated Collins into the receiver.

"Ask him if he can make some copies of these if we bring them to his office."  Mark gestured toward the flyers.

"Did you hear that, Benny?  He says that's fine, Mark.  Okay, Benny, I'll talk to you later.  Bye."

Collins hung up the phone and returned to the couch.  "Benny has to meet some clients for dinner tonight; it just came up.  So we'll have to go out some other time, maybe tomorrow.  However, he will be coming to your performance, Roger.  He had a date with Alison lined up, but he's going to reschedule it."

Roger grinned broadly.  "That's great."

"It is," agreed Mark, apparently impressed.  "They're pretty serious.  And Alison doesn't like to be rescheduled.  Well, speaking of Benny, let's go ahead and take the flyers to him so we can go ahead and hang up some copies."

"Yeah, okay.  Oh, hey, Mark, let's remember to pick up some Oreos while we're out."

"That's it!" cried Collins, scribbling something into his crossword puzzle.

"What it?" asked Roger, confused.

"A dessert item since 1912," Collins explained, looking quite satisfied.  Mark laughed, suddenly understanding.  Roger, still baffled, looked around at his roommates.

"You guys are crazy."


	8. Glory

_A/N:  I'm back!  Thanks to Michelle (Daydreamer731) for beta-ing.  Also, thanks a lot to Arch of Wand.  I always really appreciate your reviews and you are absolutely right, I do take absolutely too long between chapters.  I shall try to remedy this situation.  Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, actually.  Please continue to do so. I love feedback._

Mark and Roger sat at a table together at the Barracuda.  Mark had helped Roger set up and now they were just waiting.  Roger was supposed to play in twenty minutes.  The split lip from his fight with Jake had mostly healed, but it still looked a bit odd.  Roger doubted that anyone would notice.  He drummed his fingers anxiously on the table.  Glancing at Mark, Roger realized that his friend was just as tense as he was.  Roger tried to start a conversation, mostly to ease his own mind.

"So, Maureen coming tonight?"

"Yeah.  You know that."

Roger sighed.  "I know.  I've just got to say something.  This waiting is killing me."

Mark let out a slightly manic laugh.  "Me, too.  But you'll be great."

"Mark! Roger!"

The men looked up to see that Collins and Benny had arrived and were coming over to join them.  Roger grinned broadly.  "Guys, I'm so glad you came!"

"Wouldn't miss it!" exclaimed Benny, beaming at Roger as Collins went to buy them all some drinks.  "This is just the start.  One day you'll be selling out huge concerts.  Roger, my rock star roommate."

"Nice alliteration," remarked Collins with a smirk as he returned with the drinks.

"You laugh now," continued Benny, with a mock-suffering look, "but just wait 'til Cyber Arts is up and Roger's making hit CDs."

"What happened to Cyber Arts allowing me to produce hit films?" Mark teased.

"You can still produce hit films.  Cyber Arts is flexible."

"But what about me?" asked Collins.

Benny looked at him for a moment.  Finally, he responded, "Well, you'll just have to write a book or something, won't you?"

Roger laughed, pleased with the distraction from his nervousness provided by his friends.  Raising his glass, he exclaimed, "To Cyber Arts!"

"To Cyber Arts!" was the enthusiastic reply of his friends.

"To Cyber Arts," was the rather confused reply of a woman whose voice Roger didn't recognize.  He looked up to see that a very attractive woman with dark curly hair, wearing some very tight tiger-print pants with an equally tight white blouse.  Roger realized that she was walking directly towards their table.  "What's Cyber Arts?"

"Just a dream of ours," explained Mark, standing and gazing at the woman with an expression of extreme adoration.  "Maureen, this is Benny, Collins, and Roger.  Guys, this is Maureen."

"A pleasure to meet you, Maureen," greeted Collins as he shook her hand.  Maureen smiled at sat down next to Mark.

"It's great to finally meet all you guys.  Mark talks about you all the time."

"I could say the same about you," replied Roger, grinning as his statement earned him a death glare from Mark.

"So, Roger, what kind of stuff are you going to play tonight?  Anything me and Marky can dance to?" Maureen asked, giving Roger a wink.

Roger laughed and tried to ignore Benny mouthing "Marky" and grinning at a blushing Mark.  "I guess you could try, but I don't think you'll find it very danceable.  I'm doing acoustic stuff.  Some covers, a lot of my own songs."

"Well, I look forward to hearing you," Maureen replied flirtatiously.  Roger grinned, not really taking her coquettishness seriously.  "So Mark," the woman continued, "what exactly did you say you do here?"

"I'm a sound technician of sorts," explained Mark.

Maureen looked slightly puzzled.  "Most bars don't have sound technicians, do they? How'd you get that job?" she asked.

"Yeah, Mark, how did you manage that?" inquired Roger.  "I'd never really thought about it before, but it is kind of unusual."

"Well," began Mark, "it was kind of an accident.  I was sitting at the bar looking at the want ads and the sound equipment for that night's band just started screwing up while they were trying to set up.  I walked over and fixed it and Rick saw.  He'd noticed that I had been reading the want ads and basically offered me the newly-created job of sound technician on the spot."

"Ah yes," remarked Collins, "the famous Cohen luck."

"No kidding," agreed Benny.  "Only Mark could get hired and paid for a nonexistent job."

Mark rolled his eyes but smiled.  "You exaggerate."

Roger chuckled and glanced at his watch.  He began to feel the nervousness creeping back into his body and made an attempt to shake it off by taking a breath.  Incidentally, this deep breath also caught the attention of the other four people at the table and caused them to turn and look at him.

"Well, it's time for me to go up there."

Mark smiled.  "You'll be great.  I know it."

Collins nodded.  "I have complete confidence in you."

"Get up there and wow 'em for us!" encouraged Benny.

His fears melting into a surge of confidence and adrenaline, Roger left the table and walked up to the part of the bar that served as a stage.  He pulled his guitar from its case and sat down on a stool in front of the microphone.  Roger glanced at his friends one more time and began to speak.

"Hi, I'm Roger Davis.  Some of you have seen me play here before with my band, the Well Hungarians.  Well, as it turns out, the Hungarians are a bit _un_well right now."  It was a corny joke, but there were a few laughs.  "So for tonight you've just got me."  Applause, mostly from his roommates.  "So, um, here we go."

The performance was perfect.  Roger played beautifully, he sang beautifully, and a few of the girls in the audience had fallen in love with him in the first ten minutes.  After playing for about an hour, Roger began to speak into the microphone again.

"Before I play my last song, I'd just like to thank you guys.  You've been a great audience.  And I'd also like to thank a few other people, it you'll put up with me talking a bit longer.  First of all, Rick, the owner of this fine establishment.  A great bar owner and a great friend.  He's really helped me get here.  Thanks, Rick.  I also want to thank my roommates, Benny, Collins, and Mark, sitting right at that table over there."  He pointed.  "Anyway, thanks for being awesome friends and really supporting me in this.  Especially Mark—that's the scrawny one.  He's done so much for me lately, and I really don't know how I can even begin to thank him.  So everyone give Mark a big round of applause for me and I'll go ahead and play this last song for you."  The audience obeyed Roger's request and he fulfilled his promise.  He began to play a sort of a rock ballad, one of his originals.  When he finished, he was greeted by a surge of enthusiastic applause.  He was absolutely euphoric.

Mark and the gang managed to beat a path to Roger before all the girls hoping to congratulate him while batting their eyelashes excessively were able to reach him.  Mark practically jumped on him, hugging him in delight.

"That was amazing, Roger!"

"Great job, man," agreed Benny, shaking Roger's hand before Roger pulled him into a hug as well.

"You'll do this again," predicted Collins as he, in turn, embraced Roger.  "You're talented, and you have a great rapport with the audience."

"Great job, Roger," said Maureen simply.  She smiled at him, but Roger thought she looked just a little bit bored.  "Marky," she began, but she stopped, looking a touch frustrated, when Mark, who was quite nearly as excited as Roger, launched at him a second time.  They embraced, laughing, like little boys in celebration of something wonderful.

"Thanks so much, guys," began Roger as he let go of Mark.  "This is just… so incredible."

"Marky," Maureen repeated.  "Marky, let's go dancing."

"Dancing?"  Mark looked slightly surprised.  "I don't know, Maureen; I'm pretty tired.  I really don't feel like dancing right now.  Maybe some other night."

"But _Marky_."  Maureen grabbed hold of both of his hands and pouted slightly.  Roger smirked.  He knew his friend didn't stand a chance.

"Tell you what.  Why don't I take you out for a late dessert instead?  That would be fun.  We'll go to some really nice place and order a fancy dessert."

Maureen sighed melodramatically.  "No, I have to watch my weight.  I'll just go home."

Mark looked guilty.  "All right, Maureen, I'm sorry.  Come one, I'll take you dancing.  I guess I'll see you guys later."  Mark waved to his friends and he and Maureen left the bar, hand in hand.

"That girl's going to wear him out," remarked Benny.

Roger nodded.  "That's the truth.  But you're one to talk.  Alison's got you pretty whipped yourself, Benny."

"Hey, I rescheduled her tonight to come see you."

"Touché."

Collins shrugged.  "Mark will have fun.  Well, Roger, I guess we'd better leave you to mingle with your adoring public.  Want to head back to the loft, Benny?"

"Sure," agreed Benny.  "We'll see you later, Rog."

"All right, see you guys," replied Roger as his friends left.  He turned to receive the strangers coming up to congratulate him and smiled.  He felt that this night was some sort of a beginning, and he was enjoying it thoroughly.


	9. Christmas bells are ringing

_A/N: I feel absolutely dreadful for taking so long with this chapter. All I can say is that the end of high school is very time-consuming. But all that is over. I had a very odd time writing this chapter. It was full of surprises. I actually had Mark dialogue written in before I realized that he needed to be with his family. Roger's phone conversation with his family was a big surprise to me as well. And I didn't know that his parents were still together and happy until I saw it on paper. This is mostly a filler chapter, but it's a filler with purpose. I want to establish a theme of Christmas Eve being a kind of check point for where they are in their lives. We'll see how it goes. And if you're wondering why we get to see both sides of Roger's phone conversations and not Benny's, it's because this is third person limited focused on Roger. Handy things, viewpoints._

"Yes, Alison, seven o' clock is fine. No, no, that's not too late for dinner. Don't worry; I can't wait to meet your whole family, baby. Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. I love you too. Of course not. Really, Alison, do you actually think I _own_ any tacky ties? I've got a better sense of style than that, baby. Merry Christmas Eve to you, too. Bye." Benny hung up the phone and turned to face his friends. "Does Mickey Mouse in a Santa suit qualify as tacky?"

"Yes," came the unanimous reply of Collins and Roger. Collins was stretched out on the couch reading _Flatland_ and Roger was tuning his guitar. Mark was in Scarsdale with Maureen, visiting his family for the holidays. Benny was heading to the refrigerator when the phone rang again.

"Probably Alison remembering something she needed to tell me. She hates when we screen," he remarked, and picked up the phone. "Oh hey, Mark. What's up?"

"Let me talk to him before you hang up," called out Roger.

"Sure thing, Rog. So, Mark, why are you on the phone instead of bonding with your family? It can't be that bad. She's not flirting; Maureen's just very outgoing. So she's not Jewish, they'll get over it. No, you cannot sneak out tonight and drive back here. As your roommate of the past four and a half years, I command you to stay. Why? Because your mom always sends you back with lots of food and you are not leaving until you get it because we're not letting you in without it. Your mom may be annoying, Mark, but nobody can bake brownies like that woman. So quit whining and get in the holiday spirit. It's only for a few days. Courage, man. Okay — oh, hey, wait. Roger wanted to talk to you. Hold on." Benny handed off the phone to Roger and walked back toward the refrigerator.

"Hey, Mark! Hangin' in there okay?" Roger greeted his friend enthusiastically as he picked up the phone.

"I guess," sighed Mark.

"Don't let suburbia get you down, Mark!" called Collins from the couch.

"You hear Collins?" asked Roger."  
  
Mark laughed. "Yeah, I heard him."

"Good. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that Rick just called and he's moving the Well Hungarians to Saturday in the new year."

"That's great, Roger!"

"Yeah, isn't it? And we've got some gigs lined up for a few other venues, too."

"Congratulations. That's awesome."

"Yeah, I'm pretty psyched. We'll all go out and celebrate when you get back."

"It seems like you have some reason for us to go out and celebrate just about every week," teased Mark.

"Hey, you know me. I never pass up a chance to party."

"That's the truth."

"All right, now you get off that phone and go be a good son, unlike the rest of us here," ordered Roger.

"Do I have to?" Mark whined. Roger rolled his eyes. Luckily, Mark couldn't see this or he surely would have commented.

"Well, at least go keep Maureen company. And make sure you don't leave there without some of your mom's food."

"Will do. See you."

"Later."

Roger hung up the phone and sat down on the couch. He began to reach for his guitar but paused and pulled back his arm, looking thoughtful. He sighed.

"I should really call my parents," he remarked to no one in particular.

"Then call them," replied Collins, looking up from his book. "When was the last time they heard from you?"

Roger shrugged. "I sent them a postcard when I moved in here."

"You're pathetic," chuckled Collins.

"I don't know. I might call them tomorrow. Maybe. If I feel like it."

Roger didn't bother trying to explain why he didn't want to talk to his parents. He didn't really understand it himself. His parents were caring and likeable and incredibly normal.

Roger didn't want to be normal.

"Hey, Benny," called Roger, "could you bring me a beer while you're up?"

"Sure thing," replied Benny as the phone began to ring again. "My god, the phone bill's going to be higher than the rent if we keep going at this rate."

"Just screen," advised Collins, and the answering machine picked up.

"Roger, honey? It's your mother."

Without thinking about what he was doing, Roger jumped up and picked up the phone.

"Hey, mom. I was just telling my roommate that I was going to call you tomorrow," Roger remarked, stretching the truth a bit.

"Of course you were, sweetheart," replied his mom, her tone gently teasing.

"No, really, I was."

"Well, now you're off the hook," she said with a laugh. "I wanted to go ahead and call you tonight because your grandparents are coming over tomorrow and I wasn't sure that we'd get a chance to call you, your father and I will be so busy."

"Oh, yeah, where is dad?"  
  
"He went out to buy a few last-minute things for tomorrow. He should be back soon, though. I'll get him on the phone when he gets in."

"Okay." Roger felt awkward. Despite the fact that he hadn't talked to his mother in months, he couldn't come up with anything to say.

"So, tell me, do you have any plans for tomorrow? Maybe a date with that Sophie girl?"

Roger laughed. "Sofia. But no, we broke up months ago. I don't have a girlfriend right now. I've gone a few dates, but nothing serious."

"Well, you let me know when you find someone."

"You'll be the first to know, mom," Roger replied with a grin.

"You're sweet, but don't lie to your poor mother. I know I'll be the last to know, but that's alright, as long as I find out sometime."

"Sorry, mom."

"Oh, that's alright, dear. So what are you doing tomorrow, then?"

"Well, my band's playing a Christmas party. It's paying pretty well. Should be a good gig."

"That's wonderful, Roger. Are you still sharing an apartment with that Mark boy and his friends?"

"Yeah. They're great. It's working out really well."

"I'm so glad. Well, your father just walked in. Do you want to talk to him?"

"Sure."

"Okay, I love you. Call me some time. And have a merry Christmas."

"You too, mom."

"Here's your dad."

"Hey there, stranger!" His father's pleased tone of surprise made Roger smile and feel guilty at the same time.

"Hey, dad."

"So, how's life going? Got a good job yet?"

"I don't really have a serious job, no, but I bartend a lot. And the band's been doing really well. We're playing a lot more now."

"Are you making enough to get by?"

"Yeah. I mean, money's tight, but with three roommates to split the rent and stuff with, well, we pull through."

"Good, good. Of course, we want you to be independent but, you know, if you ever need anything, we're here for you."

"Thanks. I know. But thing are going okay right now."

"All right, well, your mom's waving for me to come help her in the kitchen. I'd better go see what she needs before I get in trouble. Have a merry Christmas tomorrow, son. We'll talk to you later."

"Bye, dad. Merry Christmas."


	10. Give in to love

_A/N: Thanks very much to the-fraulein and Arch of Wand; I always appreciate your reviews. Since I've just broken my record of shortest time between updates, I'd really love some reviews here. Hopefully, I can keep going at this rate. Feedback helps!_

"So, Benny, what are you and Alison doing next week for Valentine's Day?"

Benny grinned. "Everything. Dinner, a show, a romantic carriage ride through Central Park. The works. After all, this is our first Valentine's Day together."

Collins shook his head.

"I don't see how we ever manage to pay the rent living with Don Juan over here."

"How long have you and Alison been dating, Benny?" asked Roger. Roger's only pressing engagement for Valentine's Day was a gig with the Well Hungarians. He wasn't lacking in dates, with a variety of girls, but nothing ever came of them. He had a hard time seeing the girls as anything more than groupies, and no one ever takes a groupie seriously. Besides, Roger had the band. He didn't have time for a serious relationship.

"Nearly six months now," Benny answered with pride.

"I can't believe it," commented Mark. "You were such a womanizer in college and when we first moved here. You practically had a different girl each month."

Benny looked offended. "Come on, Cohen, that's a major exaggeration. And I was _never_ a womanizer. I _hate_ womanizers."

"You know, I've never heard of a _man_izer before," remarked Collins.

Benny gave Collins a look, although Roger thought he could detect a smile behind it.

"I love the women and they love me. It's not my fault. Seriously, Mark, you know I'd never hurt a girl on purpose."

"No, I know," agreed Mark. "But, really, what's so special about Alison Grey?"

"She's different. She's got something I haven't really seen in any girl I've dated before."

"A hell of a lot of money?" Roger suggested jokingly. His smirk dropped, however, when he caught the glare Benny sent in his direction.

"Sophistication," Benny replied cooly before turning his attention to Collins, who was still laughing quietly at Roger's comment. "All right, Mr. Wise Guy, you can stop sniggering; it wasn't that funny. At least I have a date for Valentine's Day."

"So do I," was Collins' calm response.

Benny was not alone in his surprise.

"What?" "Who?" "Since when?" "Why didn't you tell us?"

Collins smirked at his stunned roommates. "His name is Zak, he invited me to dinner, and it isn't anything serious. Not that it's really any of your business, anyway," he teased.

"You are cruel, man," Roger said with a laugh.

"Me? Never! Come on, Roger, it's your turn now. You have a hot date for next week?"

Roger shrugged, feigning apathy. "No, just a 'hot' gig with the band. But I'll bet Mark and Maureen have some interesting plans." He turned to his now-blushing friend expectantly.

"Well," Mark stammered, "I mean, I thought I'd take her somewhere nice for dinner, of course. And I'm working on this sort of photo album for her with pictures I'd taken of her and some of us together, with some shots of other things she likes, things that make me think of her." Mark paused; the room was silent. "So I'll give that to her at dinner and she'll coo over it and then insist that we go clubbing, because she prefers nightclubs to nice restaurants. I, for one, don't particularly like clubbing, but as I am helplessly in love with Maureen, I'll do as she bids without arguing, and that is how our Valentine's Day will proceed."

After a brief silence, Collins cleared his throat. "Well," he began, "I hereby declare that Benny wins the award for higher budget romance whereas Mark wins the medal for the cheaper equivalent."

"That's no good," Mark observed. "Maureen's anything but a cheap date."

"And Collins, you get the 'Surprise!' trophy," Roger added, just before a rhythm was beat by someone knocking at the door.

"I'll get it," announced Mark. He opened the door to reveal the bouncing dark curls and rather tight clothing of Maureen Johnson, who burst through the doorway, beaming, a suitcase in each hand. She planted a kiss on Mark's lips before dropping her suitcases on the floor.

"Surprise, pookie!"

Roger leaned over toward Collins and said under his breath, "Well, buddy, there goes your 'Surprise!' trophy. You can be first runner-up." Collins sniggered and covered it with a laugh; Benny moved to the couch so he could join in the commentary.

"Maureen," Mark began, finally, looking utterly confused, "what are you doing here?"

"I'm moving in with you, silly," she replied, tapping him playfully on the nose.

"Must have been behind on her rent," muttered Benny. Collins and Roger nodded in agreement.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Mark!" Maureen threw her arms open as if to suggest that the move-in was her gift to him.

"But, Maureen, Valentine's Day isn't for a week," Mark pointed out feebly.

"I wanted to get a head start," countered Maureen smoothly. When Mark did not run to embrace her and shower her with kisses, her expression darkened slightly and she began to pout her lips.

"Oh, Mark's done for now," remarked Roger.

"He'll give in any second," Benny agreed.

"Aren't you happy to see me, pookie?" Maureen gazed pitifully at Mark, her pretty actress's eyes looking as if they might burst into tears at any moment.

"And he's gone," declared Collins.

Sure enough, Mark ran to take Maureen into his arms, eager to prevent a temper tantrum. "Of course, Maureen; I'm thrilled." He turned to Roger, who currently slept on an air mattress on the floor of Mark's room, with an apologetic look on his face.

"Um, Roger—"

"Don't worry about it," Roger cut him off and shot his friend an easy-going smile. "Sleeping on the couch is fine with me."

"I'm really sorry—"

"Not a problem, Mark. Seriously. Hey, look guys, I've got to go practice with the band. I'll see you later tonight. Welcome to the loft, Maureen."

Roger gave Maureen an awkward welcome hug and walked out, shutting the door on the loft where everything was beginning to return to normal and normal was beginning to include Maureen. Roger did have band practice, but not for another two hours. He just had to get out of the Apartment of Love. With a sigh, he walked into a bar and sat down, wondering out loud how it was that all of his friends had dates and he didn't.

"I don't get it. I'm confident, I'm better-looking—"

"Well, that doesn't say much. You're better-looking than most guys."

This statement caught Roger by complete surprise, and he turned to face the stranger who had voiced this remark. It was a woman, attractive, but not drop-dead gorgeous. She was very tan, with light brown hair, and of average height, if a little on the short side. The only thing really remarkable about her was her smile. Roger couldn't place what made it so special, but something about that smile caught his eye, and held it.

"Who are you?"

"The name's April."

"Hi, April, I'm—"

"Roger Davis, yeah, I know. I've seen your band play a few times."

Roger racked his brain, searching through memories of small crowds of girls swarming him after a gig. He couldn't place April in any of them.

"I don't remember seeing you before."

"You wouldn't. I was never a groupie."

"Ah. More self-respect than that?"

April shrugged. "I wanted you to take me seriously. And no one ever takes a groupie seriously."

"Good point."

The girl looked him in the eye and said, very seriously, "You're really good, you know. Your band. You're going to go far."

"Thanks." Roger was beginning to feel awkward. "I've got to go to practice, actually, but, uh, it was great meeting you."

"Here." April scribbled something on a napkin and handed it to him. "My number."

Roger raised an eyebrow but took the number, although he doubted that he would ever call it. Despite what this girl claimed, she seemed like an over-confident groupie to him. Roger nodded good-bye to April and walked outside, shaking his head as if to try and shake out the image of that mesmerizing smile.


	11. Winds of change

_A/N: Sorry this took so long. I wrote the first paragraph within about a week of my last update, and didn't write anything more for about a month. I'm blaming it on lack of chocolate. Anyway, I really enjoyed writing this chapter, although the ending feels a little rushed and the whole thing didn't turn out anything like I expected. This was supposed to be the beginning of a chapter, but it got pretty long and turned out being its own thing. I'm really looking forward to the next chapter, though. One last bit of fun before things get ugly. Oh, one more thing before I stop rambling: I've decided that I absolutely cannot write Mark without having him be a little bit in love with Roger. This will not be a slash fic, however. It will always remain unrequited subtext, but it's there, nonetheless. Now, I apologize for both taking and talking so long, please read and review!_

A few weeks after Maureen moved in, it was as if she had always lived there. She was a lot wittier than anyone had expected, and could be a lot of fun. She could also be extremely aggravating, and watching Mark gaze adoringly at her twenty-four/seven was, at times, borderline nauseating. However, everyone had learned to get used to these drawbacks, and it never hurt to have another person to split the rent, although Maureen was not exactly the most reliable person in the world when it came to financial matters.

Roger's biggest concern about Maureen's move-in had been that it would hurt his friendship with Mark, but even that had turned out alright. True, Mark didn't hang out with Roger nearly as much as he had before Maureen's big entrance, but it wasn't like they weren't sharing an apartment. He understood that Maureen was a demanding girlfriend, and he tried to respect Mark's patience and devotion toward her. To be perfectly honest, however, Roger was more inclined to think that Mark was a downright wimp when it came to Maureen, but he figured that mentioning that would be far more likely to hurt his and Mark's friendship than Maureen herself.

Besides, when it came down to it, they still had the walks home from the Barracuda. That had become a sort of small-scale boys' night. True, all they did was walk home and talk a bit, but it was a tradition they both enjoyed. One of those moments of stability in the crazy lives of Modern Young Men.

However, even these walks weren't as common as they once were, although this had nothing to do with Maureen. Although Roger almost never played solo gigs anymore, the Well Hungarians had been doing better than ever, playing in a lot of different clubs, and that got in the way of his and Mark's little ritual. Sometimes they were able to bring Mark with them as their perfectly sound tech and there was no problem, but that wasn't very often. Whenever they played somewhere near the Barracuda, Mark and Roger would just meet up afterwards and walk home together as usual. But they didn't always play near enough to meet up later. And sometimes Roger forgot. He didn't mean to. But every so often someone would offer him a joint or just a beer and before long he would be there past four AM, sometimes on ecstasy, often making out with some barely legal groupie whose name he would have forgotten by morning, if he'd ever known it to begin with.

Roger only got caught up in the parties once a week or so, maybe twice, which he didn't think was unreasonable. He told himself that he deserved some fun every once in a while. After all, maintaining a successful band was hard work. He always asked Mark to take a cab home if Roger wasn't able—or forgot—to walk with him. Mark always promised that he would, but Roger knew he never did. He didn't press it, though, because Mark always commented that he wished Roger wouldn't come home stoned so often, and that hadn't really stopped him. Roger didn't see what the big deal was. It wasn't like it was every night, and Mark rarely had to deal with him when he was in that state, because those were the nights Mark walked home alone. So they broke each others promises occasionally. In a weird way, Roger saw it as a fair trade. Apparently Mark did as well, because they didn't argue about it. At least, not very much.

Tonight, however, Roger was not even mildly stoned, and Mark was not walking home alone. The Well Hungarians had just played a particularly good show at the Barracuda, leaving both Mark and Roger in particularly good moods. April had been there. Roger hadn't talked to her since they'd met two months ago. She hadn't approached him again, but she came to almost every gig. Roger got the feeling that she was waiting for him to give in first and acknowledge her, but he had a stronger will power than that. Treating the whole thing as a kind of game, Roger had decided not to call her, although he hadn't thrown away her number. He had eventually mentioned their encounter to his friends, and had pointed her out to Mark once. Sometimes he wished hadn't, as his friend loved to rib him about it. He couldn't really blame him. The guys teased Mark all the time; he was just so _easy_. It wasn't as easy to get a rise out of Roger, but Mark sure as hell was going to try.

"So, Roger, I saw your mystery girlfriend at the show tonight," Mark teased him when they were a couple of blocks away from their building.

Roger rolled his eyes and refused to take the bait. He almost smiled, but he didn't want to encourage Mark too much. Roger considered pointing out that "mystery girlfriend" would more accurately apply to the party hook-ups whose names he could never remember, but that would just make his friend scowl and turn sullen for the rest of the walk, and Roger didn't feel like dealing with that.

However, Mark was beginning to get annoying.

"Roger and April, sittin' in a tree—"

"Geez, Mark, I thought that song died in the fifth grade."

"Classics never die, Roger. K-i-s-s-i-n—"

Mark found himself struggling against Roger's headlock for the remainder of the journey home.

Upon reaching the stairwell, Roger reasoned (something he did occasionally, a trait most likely picked up from living with Collins) that dragging Mark up the stairs in a headlock would be more trouble than it was worth, so he settled for giving Mark the Ultimate Noogie of All Time and released him. Mark rubbed his neck, and glared at Roger. Eventually, despite a lot of effort on Mark's part to keep it going, the glare faded and was replaced by a smile. He had, after all, deserved it. Roger gave his buddy a playful, manly shove, and Mark returned it in the interest of male bonding. With that rather cute and fluffy, although somewhat painful, moment out of the way, they began the ascent of the stairs.

When Roger opened the door, he and Mark were rather taken aback. It was pretty late, and usually their roommates were asleep at this hour. On the occasions that they were awake, they were usually involved, at least, in some sensible activity such as watching television, playing a board game, or just talking. Tonight, however, Roger and Mark found Collins, Benny, and Maureen sitting silently, staring at the door. Maureen and "silent" didn't normally fit in the same sentence, and Roger was tempted to ask if there had been some sort of zombie replacement mission taking place in the loft. However, judging from the look on Maureen's face, he decided this would be a bad idea. She and Collins both looked slightly cross, as if they really just wanted to go to sleep. Benny, however, looked wired.

"It's about time you boys showed up!" exclaimed Maureen. "Benny has been driving us crazy."

"What's going on?" asked Mark, obviously puzzled.

"Who knows?" sighed Collins, looking a tad exasperated, despite his patient nature. "Benny has some kind of big announcement to make, and he said we had to wait for you guys before he'd spill it."

"Well?" Roger turned to Benny expectantly.

"Please be seated, gentleman," Benny replied calmly, although he looked anything but calm at the moment. In fact, Roger reflected as he sat down on the table, Mark taking a seat in a chair next to him, it wouldn't have been too shocking if Benny started laughing hysterically at this moment.

"All right, Benny, we're sitting down. What's the big news?"

"I'm engaged."

Despite the simple delivery, or maybe because of it, four sets of jaws dropped. Okay, so that _was_ big news. Roger had half-expected Benny to announce that he'd won the Golden Swivel Chair award or something.

Mark was the first to break the silence.

"Congratulations, Benny." He walked over and gave his friend a handshake which turned into a sincere hug.

Apparently, Mark had started a trend, because Collins, Roger, and Maureen were soon falling over themselves to give Benny a pat on the back.

"You devil, Benny! How long were you planning this without letting us in on it?"

"That's so romantic! How did you propose?"

By the time they settled down, Benny had a delirious grin on his face, as if their congratulations had reminded him one more time that he really was engaged to be married.

"Anyway, I want you all in the wedding, of course. Naturally, we'll have to talk to Alison first for you, Maureen. And Mark, well, you've been my best friend for nearly five years now, and," he paused, "I'd be honored if you would be my best man."

Mark beamed. "The honor's all mine, Benny. I'd be glad to. Do I get to make a speech?"

"Yes, but no embarrassing college stories allowed," warned Benny, grinning at his friend.

"Aw, you're no fun."

"Well, man," began Roger, "all I can say is that it's a good thing after all that you made Collins and Maureen wait up for us, because I would have pummeled you if you'd told them all this tonight and not mentioned it to us until morning."

"I'm glad I made them wait, too, then. I'd hate to be all bloodied up the next time I see my fiancée." Benny paused, savoring the word. "That reminds me, Alison wants to meet all of you. I was thinking that maybe we could all have lunch together on Saturday."

"That'd be great!" exclaimed Maureen enthusiastically. "I know the cutest little restaurant we could go to, it's—"

"Actually, I was thinking we could just eat here," Benny explained, cutting her off.

Roger raised an eyebrow. "You want your future wife to see that you lived in a place like this?"

Benny shrugged. "Her father's the landlord; it's not like she doesn't already know. So, what do you say?"

"Sounds like a plan," replied Collins.

"Yeah," agreed Roger, "I'll tell the guys that I can't make it to practice on Saturday."

"Yeah, Roger, try not to stay out partying too late the night before, either."

"Mark…" Roger's voice took on a warning tone.

"Geez, Roger, chill. I was just messing with you. You take everything so seriously. Hell, I'm going to bed. Congratulations, Benny."

Maureen raised her eyebrows. "Guess I'll go see what's wrong with our little party pooper. Way to go, Benny, even if you did keep her hidden away from us until you were engaged." With that, she walked after Mark into the room that Roger had once shared.

"Well." Collins clapped his hands together and yawned. "I'd say that's enough excitement for one night. In the words of Shakespeare, 'I'll to my truckle bed.' Good night."

Benny rolled his eyes as he followed Collins into the room they shared. "Only you could quote Shakespeare on going to sleep, my friend. Night, Rog."

"Oh, yeah, good job tonight, Benny."

Roger remained alone in the living alone. He crawled onto the couch with a blanket and fell promptly asleep.


End file.
